Six Multiplied by Seven
by WookieFragger
Summary: After the end of Mostly Harmless, our heroes are rescued in the most improbable way. I'll continue if y'all want me to.
1. Chapter 1

Reality is one weird piece of work. All of the things that are absolutely impossible in one reality might be the only things possible in another, while one reality might be very similar to another. The only truly impossible thing, however, is that any two realities could be exactly the same. Researchers from the Maximegalon Institute of Researching and Experimenting and Generally Irresponsibly Screwing Around With the Space-Time Continuum In the Name of Science (MIREGISAWSTCINS) traveled to hundreds of different realities until they discovered one that was absolutely identical to their home reality. They were so overjoyed that they partied and danced and got very drunk on a small, inconsequential planet, and it wasn't until the morning after that the designated space-time traveling machine driver realized that since they were now in this universe, it was no longer identical to their home universe. They were very hung over as it was, and now they were annoyed, so the researchers killed him and drank coffee. Later, they realized that he was still right, and that they had, in fact, ruined an amazing scientific phenomenon with their very presence, and so they quietly disposed of his body and when they returned to their home reality, told his family that he had made a great sacrifice in the name of science. That very day, for the hell of it, they went to the small, inconsequential planet in their home universe, and made inquiries at the club they had been to in the other reality. The managers told them that a bunch of researchers came a few days before, drank all their booze, killed someone, and left. Worried, they paid a very dislikable species a very likable amount of money to find an excuse to destroy the planet so that their guilt would never be discovered. The upshot of all this was that this world was pretty much screwed, and one person had the presence of mind to find it absolutely hilarious.

Ford Prefect was on his knees. His head was thrown back and his teeth were well past being indecently exposed as he violently shook with insane laughter at everything. The four people around him were totally silent, their eyes closed, and their minds full of stupefying terror. It wasn't the kind of terror that causes people to run around like decapitated chickens and scream. It was, rather, the kind of terror that came over people who knew that there was no more hope for them, or for anyone. It was the terror that came over people who knew that the world was ending, and that they could not do anything about it. It was an extremely peaceful feeling. The terror that comes most people in these kinds of situations is the terror of people who have figured out, more or less, from certain circumstances, like earthquakes, chaos, and bright destructive beams firing from the underbellies of an armada of alien spacecraft, that the world is ending, and think they can solve it by running around panicking like said decapitated chickens. This was the terror of the people who were not sill inside Stavro's. The only people who had not left the club were Ford, Arthur, Tricia, Trillian, Random, and if you count bodies, Agrajag's lifeless corpse.

Arthur sat on the floor holding Random. Ford was still laughing. The chaos outside was slowly being drowned out by the growing, thundering noise of the Vogon ships' weapons. "It's okay," Arthur whispered, "You fit with me." Random held on to him tightly. The whole room began to glow white, the lights flickered out, the walls melted, and Agrajag's corpse turned into a pile of electric pencil sharpeners.

It's finally over, Arthur thought. All the crazy adventures I had been on, all of the pain, and all of the happiness were finally going to end. My life will flash before my eyes, and then it will all be over with, he thought. His life failed to flash before his eyes. Now that's odd, he thought. He recalled that this was supposed to be the proper pre-death experience. He waited a little bit longer, but no flashbacks came. At this point he began to get a little impatient. I AM DYING, he thought angrily, WHERE ARE MY FLASHBACKS? He still got nothing. He tried opening his eyes. He reasoned that if his life was supposed to flash before his eyes, then maybe his eyes needed to open. He looked around. Ford was turning into a penguin. Damn, he thought, I've already missed the good parts. I'll have to wait until Fenchurch before I see any happiness. He closed his eyes figuring he would just skip ahead to the good parts. He opened them again realizing that he might miss them by accident. Ford was still a penguin, the room was turning colors, and now Arthur's limbs were in the wrong place. This wasn't fair. "Damn it," Arthur said, "What kind of cruel joke is this?" A pencil sharpener rammed him in the side. He swung awkwardly at it, flailing his arm, which was sticking lewdly out of his pants, and struck the misbehaving office appliance sharply in the removable pencil shaving tray, causing pencil shavings to spew everywhere. It whimpered and huddled up against Tricia, who had grown a clown's wig and nose, and was sporting a pair of extra legs. Trillian and Random had morphed into things that, for taste's sake alone, will not be described. "What are you talking about?" said Ford, "We're saved!"

Arthur was stunned. We can't be saved, he thought. After all, hadn't the new Guide destroyed the Earth with its temporal reverse psychology, or something? He was still trying to work it all out when all of a sudden the room stopped spinning, Ford turned back into himself, Tricia's clown attire and extra legs disappeared, and the wounded pencil sharpener collapsed into a pile of gore on her skirt. The other sharpeners did the same thing all over the floor and furniture, creating an unholy mess that nobody wanted to clean. Trillian and Random could now be described without incurring the wrath of countless religious and concerned parent's groups. Arthur slowly figured out that they weren't in Stavro's anymore. Over in the corner of the room was a familiar machine that Arthur now recalled was extremely bad at making tea.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch2

Zaphod Beeblebrox sat down in the bridge of the Heart of Gold. He looked listlessly around at the boring new interior design. It was very functional and organized, but lacked the swank finesse of the old design. Gone were the gaudy colors and plants, replaced by smooth metal and plastic consoles and compartments. It looked more like a cockpit than a bachelor pad, and Zaphod sorely missed the sheer fun of adventuring in a flying ultra-powerful pimpmobile. He even missed the overly cheery computers and doors with their chipper, high voices. Now, it was just one uniform, monotone female voice for every machine on the ship. He stood up and walked to the door. "Door opening" it said as he pressed the button next to it. He glowered and passed through. "Door closing" it said. Boring as hell. The ship seemed to have no sense of humor at all.

He recalled supper a few days ago, when he had tried to flirt with the disembodied female voice. "Sir, your dinner is ready." it said joylessly. "Thank you, doll, I believe I owe you a dinner or two in return." he suavely replied. The computer processed this for a minute, and then spat a shrill beep, and intoned, "Command does not compute." Zaphod slowly shook his heads, and tried to explain. "No, baby, it's not a command, it's an invitation. Do you want to eat dinner with me sometime? I'll treat you real nice." After a moment's hesitation, the voice responded, "Sir, that's _my_ job. It's unprofessional for me to accept your invitation." Zaphod winked. "Call me Zaphod, honey. Can you be unprofessional for me?" The computer thought this over for a second or two, and then spoke, "Sir Zaphod, I really don't think-" "Just Zaphod" he interrupted. The computer began again. "Sir Just Zaphod, I really don't think that's an appropriate question." Zaphod rolled his eyes. "Jeez, I'm just trying to have a little fun." Shrill beep. "Command does not compute."

Now, he just flew around the galaxy, unable to stop anywhere because the government was after him, drinking and suffering for lack of fun companionship. He began to plod around the ship. He asked the ship to play some music. Shrill beep. "Command does not-" "Compute, I know!" shouted the unhappy Beeblebrox. Another shrill beep. "That wasn't a command, damn it!" he cried out as he pounded his three fists on the wall. The computer monotoned over him. "Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" it said. Zaphod was relieved, at least now he'd have some company.

He ordered the computer to prepare Champaign. "Unable to comply during alert phase." And began sounding off blaring klaxons. "Get out of alert phase and get them some Zarquon-damned Champaign!" A keypad and microphone folded out of the wall. "Initiating voice recognition security protocol" Zaphod clenched his fists. "Oh for the love of-" "Voice check complete" the computer interrupted, "please enter emergency override code." A hologram of a ticking clock appeared above the keypad. "You have fifteen seconds." it said with an almost sneering tone. Zaphod was absolutely flustered. He nervously scratched the backs of his heads, causing two small flurries of dandruff to drift down to the floor. He hadn't the foggiest notion of what the override code was, and he had grown sick of the shipboard AI's snotty professionalistic crap. Angrily, he entered s-c-r-e-w y-o-u, and pressed the 'submit' key. The computer beeped rapidly as it processed. "Emergency override code confirmed. Canceling the alert phase." the computer said, with a barely perceptible hint of agitation in its voice. Zaphod couldn't believe it. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the Heart of Gold's security robots promptly lowered their assault lasers and offered Arthur, Ford, and company some Champaign.


End file.
